


The Game

by FranklyFrazzled



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranklyFrazzled/pseuds/FranklyFrazzled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>( <i>They play a game called You hurt me, I hurt you. You hurt me, I hurt you. You hurt me, I hurt you.</i> )</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game

Basque Country, Spain  
Summer of 2013  
Thirty Three Years Old  
  
There is a fake ending to this story. One like in all those movies that like to confuse their audience by dangling the end before the beginning- lulling them into a false sense of confidence that they will know how everything turns out before it really even starts.  
  
This fake ending takes place on a beach in San Sebastian as the sun has already fallen over the horizon and was slowly dragging the light of the sky along with it, leaving the world behind with night. If it were a movie, the camera would begin by scanning the length of beach. The water slowly rolling itself into a uniform bank of sand until small articles of clothing would begin to appear. Half-hazardly thrown suit jackets and ties playing victim in the newly disturbed sand until the camera would stop on them- two men laying side by side on the beach together, trying to regain their breath.  
  
This is not some romantic scene that the filmmaker has just happened to fall upon. No, it’s far from it. In fact, the men had just collapsed to the ground in exhaustion from fighting, not lovemaking, despite their ages and quality of their now destroyed clothing making this reality seem like the more ridiculous of the two options. Two respectable men of their stature should not have been fighting in the first place. (That is the fault of The Game but we’ll have to return to that at a later point.)  
  
Steven recovered first, sitting up slightly and leaning over to look at Xabi. They were both flustered but their breathing was beginning to settle down. They were getting old, it seemed. When they had been children it would only take them moment to recover from their little spats and they would be back at it in no time at all. (Much to the dismay of their parents who never really understood the delicate relationship the two boys had always shared. One part violence and cruelty, another part complete and total enamorment with each other.) But as Steven looked over the face of his friend (ex-friend, something) he didn’t want to go for another round.  
  
When Xabi noticed he was being watched, he halfheartedly swatted at Steven and they both began to laugh despite the harsh fists and even harsher words they had been throwing at each other not too long before. That was the thing with Steven and Xabi, how it had always been between them. Once it was out of their system, until the next time that was, it was simply out. They were back to being mates again. Xabi let out a particularly exhilarated laugh, having forgotten how good The Game had felt in the first place.  
  
Steven’s eyes found themselves narrowing in on his handsome face- strong jaw, soft lips. He’d always admired the other man’s lips, unravaged by years of harsh English winters like his own. In that moment he wanted little else than to lean down and press their mouths together in a tender kiss. This is something Steven had wanted but not dared to do in all the years they had known each other.  
  
“Joder, how does this always happen between you and me?” Xabi asked, still grinning euphorically. This time what stops Steven was not his own cowardice, as per usual, but instead remembering something that had been yelled in the heat of their argument. It had been something along the lines of, “I always knew I could not wait for you forever.”  
  
Instead of a kiss, he absently found himself fingering a tear in Xabi’s dress shirt before he asked, “Who was your first?”  
  
Xabi looked up at him curiously and noted how Steven childishly refused to meet his eyes. He was afraid of what his friend (ex-friend, something) might say. He knew what he would like to hear. What he would be okay with. Maybe if Xabi had gotten drunk one night and gone off with someone from a random bar. Or even if Íker had been his first. Somehow if Xabi had remained sexually inactive until just a few years ago, he could handle that because it would mean it had happened when he had been temporarily out of his life. It would be okay because it would mean that he had been out of the picture. He knew it was ridiculous to think that someone has handsome as the other man would have waited to be with him after all of these years. Ridiculous and yet at the same time he could barely fathom to think of him as having been with anyone else either. (Even Íker, who had made it his main priority to shove their intimacy in his face whenever they saw each other.)  
  
Xabi smiled after a moment of trying to figure out his angle. Pressing closer to the Englishman he whispered “Arteta” softly, closing his eyes like he was trying to recapture the memory when really he was reveling in the way Steven’s body went rigid besides him. “It happened the summer I was fifteen. You’d just told me to fuck off and that I wasn’t good enough to be your friend. So I let him fuck me.”  
  
When he opened his eyes, Steven’s shocked expression was the first thing he saw. Xabi pursed his lips, suddenly tired and aggravated (he could already feel his chin begin to bruise from a cheap shot Steven had gotten on him earlier). “I’ve been saving that one for a long time, Steven. You hurt me, I hurt you- remember?” He got up, just shrugging his shoulders helplessly, too tired and unsatisfied to think of anything else to say, before gathering his discarded things and retreating into his childhood home.  
  
So it had just been The Game all along. Steven thinks The Game might kill him. Tear out his heart, stomp on it, and then throw it into the stinging ocean. But then again that’s exactly what it had been invented for after all.  
  
Basque Country, Spain  
Summer of 1983  
Three Years Old  
  
There are a lot of things that Steven doesn’t like. He doesn’t like that his favorite uncle who always gave him cookies when his mom said no had gone on some long and mysterious vacation and that no one would tell him where. He doesn’t like that for weeks his favorite aunt was too sad and busy crying that she couldn’t come over and play with Steven properly. But most of all, he really doesn’t like that his aunt decided to move to Spain to wait for his uncle to come back from where-ever it was that he had went.  
  
The airplane hurt his ears and his mom kept yelling at him to sit still and he wasn’t even allowed to go exploring. Even worse, the smelly old man that was sitting next to him was mean and did he forget to mention that the man _smelled_? Like something had died in his suit but he wasn’t even allowed to open a window for some fresh air. The windows didn’t even open. It was all stupid. Steven knew he wouldn’t like Spain before he even got there because the stupid old man was from Spain and Steven certainly didn’t like him.  
  
Despite how awful the plane was, he must have fallen asleep sometime before landing because one moment he was miserable in his uncomfortable seat and the next his dad was shaking him awake because, ta-da! They were at his aunt’s new house and with his parents carrying all their luggage no one could carry him out of the taxi so he had to wake up and walk. His ears still felt funny and he was cranky and it was hot but at least he would get to see his aunt. He hoped she still wasn’t crying that she didn’t get to go on a super cool vacation too, like his uncle did. Seeing her cry always made him very sad and his parents had promised that he would have fun visiting for the summer. Being sad was not Steven’s idea of fun.  
  
The house was right on the beach. It was so close that the backyard was all sand, which he thought was pretty cool. He wondered if someone would help him build a sandcastle. He’d never built one before and wasn’t really sure how it would work either but he saw one tv and it looked super cool so he just _had_ to make one too. Steven forgot all about being tired thinking about being able to play in his aunt’s new, super cool house.  
  
Of course his parents insisted that they go inside and say hello before he could begin babbling about a sandcastle monster with sea shells for claws. Which was lame but then again, he was sure that as soon as his aunt saw him, she would take him outside and play with him. He was, after-all, three and ridiculously adorable and her only nephew in the country. That gave him playing privileges.  
  
To his dismay, when they entered the house, his aunt wasn’t alone. There was a little kid in her lap. He was about two, had messy brown hair, and had a large Band-Aid on his knee. His eyes were still red from crying and there was still some sand stuck to his shin from where he must have fallen to get that scrape. Worst of all, he was cute. Not just cute, but really, ridiculously adorable. Just like Steven was- only plumper and younger which only made him more appealing. Steven’s eyes instantly narrowed on the rival child, clearly not pleased by his presence.   
  
His aunt happily announced their arrival to the boy in her lap in Spanish before trying to set him down so she could properly say hello to her visiting family. However, the child refused to let go of her, wrapping his chubby little arms around her neck and hiding his face in her chest, forcing her to pick him up and bring him with her as she embraced her sister and brother-in-law. Steven shuffled his feet, looking and feeling a bit dejected that she had saved him for last. Or even worse, that because she was carrying the other boy she couldn’t pick him up like she always used to back in England.  
  
“Steven! You’re getting so big. You’re almost all grown up now,” she said happily, ruffling his hair and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. He huffed, noting the child in her arms peeking out from her blouse looking at him. His glare sent the other child to hide his face instantly into his aunt’s shirt once more. Steven took that as a small but delightful victory.  
  
Everyone sat down on the couches but the boy would not let his aunt go. “Vamos, Xabi. Alto. Let go!” she laughed, apologizing to her family as she finally pried the child away and set him down next to her. “This little guy is Xabi. He lives next door. I was out for a stroll when I found him crying in the driveway. He’d fallen and hurt his knee but he’s a brave little man, isn’t that right?” she asked, nudging the boy who looked like he was trying to blend in with the sofa and avoid any and all attention from the visiting Gerrards.  
  
Somehow between making small talk and getting tea made, the adults managed to isolate the two boys on the patio. The two just stood in front of each other, cautiously watching what the other would do. Steven didn’t like the other boy- that was made clear by his perpetual pout and refusal to initiate camaraderie- which he normally extended to just about anything that moved. Xabi just shyly toed around in the sand- only sneaking a peek every now and then to see if Steven was still frowning at him.  
  
Not wanting the smaller boy to get in the way of his fun, Steven finally settled down on the sand and decided that he would build a sandcastle himself. Despite the fact that he knew nothing about the construction of anything using sand- he was determined and began trying to build a large pile of sand for the base. It was hard work since the sand didn’t exactly seem to want to stay in shape.  
  
He was starting to get frustrated with the constant avalanches which were ruining all of his hard work until suddenly Xabi was there, using his small hands to try and add small fistfuls of sand on top of the pile to help. Steven eyed the younger boy quizzically before nodding enthusiastically and redoubling his efforts- surely the other boys help would make the difference! They were going to have a castle in no time now.  
  
When Steven’s mother came to collect him- Xabi’s mother having just come from work trailing her a few steps- the two boys were giggling and rolling around together. It was the picture of new friendship. The two women watched their sons for a few moments before calling out to them. “Steven, come in now. It’s time to spend some time with Auntie before bed!”  
  
Steven sat up instantly at the words and got up to leave without so much as a thought towards Xabi. He would finally get some of that much desired love and affection from his aunt. The other boy- looking hurt by his new friend’s sudden indifference to their fun- made a desperate plea to keep his friend from going inside and thus going away.  
  
He bit him.  
  
If Xabi hadn’t been two years old at the time, he would have been able to see how biting someone doesn’t exactly scream, “Be my friend.” However, he was too young to really think these kinds of matters through and he did the only thing he could think to do at the time. It certainly wasn’t the child’s brightest or proudest moment but it was what it was.  
  
Not one to be bitten and stay quiet about it, Steven angrily turned on the younger boy and pushed him down- right into the pile of sand that had been their sand castle. Xabi began to cry instantly. Once the momentary anger of having been bit wore off- Steven soon followed and burst into tears.  
  
Both mothers rushed to their boys with apologetic glances to one another as they both scolded and soothed the boys as only mothers could.  
  
Basque Country, Spain  
Summer of 1987  
Seven Years Old  
  
That stupid Arteta boy was over. Xabi told him that Mikel was his best friend while he was away so he had to be nice to him and try to be his friend too but there was something about the kid that Steven just didn’t like. Maybe it had something to do with the way that he made fun of Steven’s attempts at Spanish and only spoke Basque around him- to make him feel left out whenever he could. He liked to hog Xabi too- rubbing it in Steven’s face that when he was in England it was just the two of them.  
  
But Steven was bigger than making kids that he didn’t like cry. His mate Jamie from Liverpool had told him once that sometimes “you have to be the bigger man”. So Steven decided that he would be the bigger man with the Arteta-jerk as they watched an old replay of the Liverpool- Everton match from the month before in Xabi’s living room. He wasn’t going to let that snotty kid ruin the derby for him, even if he had seen it before and knew who exactly was going to score and when.  
  
After Liverpool’s second goal, Steven let out a loud, unabashed cheer. Of course Mikel made a snide comment from under his breath that he couldn’t understand but brattiness was a universal language and he knew when some kid was trying to make fun of him. Instead of punching him, as he probably would have done before Jamie Carragher sharing his words of wisdom with him back at school, he ignored him.  
  
Instead he turned to Xabi who was so into the game that he hadn’t noticed the tension between his two friends. “I’m a Liverpool fan, through and through,” Steven exclaimed proudly in English (Xabi’s ability to pick up English being a bit better than his ability to pick up either Spanish or Basque despite the long summers spent in the country).  
  
Xabi nodded eagerly, always so eager to please Steven. “Yo tambien, me too!” He was smiling so big and happy, Steven thought he would have to ask his dad if one day they could bring Xabi to Anfield with them. He wanted to see his friend smile that big all the time. But of course Arteta had something to say about it.  
  
Getting up from the couch he had been laying on- using it as his perch to roll his eyes and mumble mean spirited things- the tanner of the two Spanish natives stood in front of the tv, hands on his hips and defiantly announced, “Prefiero Everton.” He looked expectantly to Xabi, but the other boy made no move to agree with him. (Once a red, always a red. He couldn’t go back now.)  
  
As Mikel irately made his way back to the couch, back to mumbling incoherently under his breath, Steven found himself with a smug look of satisfaction on his face. He would have to tell Jamie there really was something to this “bigger man” nonsense when he got back to England. (He would conveniently leave out the part of the story where he and Xabi were constantly pushing and hitting each other. With Xabi it wasn’t about being the bigger man. It’s just the way they communicated best- through a language of fists followed by companionship.)  
  
Liverpool, England  
Spring of 1996  
Sixteen Years Old  
  
He’d finally gotten Alex home alone- in his room, on his bed, hands slowly descending under her shirt- after months of plotting. She was the prettiest girl at school but also the toughest. It took weeks just for her to answer the phone when he rang- don’t even get him started on how long it took to convince her to let him take her out on a proper date.  
  
And then. Once they were going pretty steady together. The house always seemed to bustling with life. His mother had her bridge club, his father had the boys over to watch the game, Jamie dropping by and knocking on his door just to piss him off and ensure he never got laid. It was miserable. And Alex made it clear she wouldn’t be having anything to do with sex in cars or anything other than a proper bed. He thought he was going to go mad before the perfect window of opportunity opened up for them to have the house to themselves.  
  
He just wanted to maul her, fearing his parents would come home early due to some freak accident on the road or something else as equally ridiculous that- knowing his luck- was bound to happen. But Alex kept squirming away saying, “Fucking hell Stevie, either do it proper or not at all, yeah?”  
  
So he finally calmed down enough to really start to get her in the mood when the fucking phone- of course- started to ring. He ignored it, not caring whoever it was. But after a while Alex just pushed him off and raised an eyebrow, about to repeat herself about doing it proper- when he held up his hands in defeat, irately going off to answer the damn telephone.  
  
“What?” he asked curtly, not caring that he sounded rude. He could hear Alex chastising him in that low sultry voice in the next room. God he wanted to be in that room with her.  
  
“Steven! Hola, it’s Xabi!” an accented voice filled the other line- oblivious to his mood. “I am so glad I caught you, I have been meaning to call you all week and-“  
  
“Oh fucking hell,” Steven whispered under his breath as he listened to Xabi’s cheery chatter. All he could think of was Alex in the next room, probably getting her head straight and realizing it would be more fun to torture him and make him wait another two months to sleep with him. And here was Xabi, going on about lord knows what, not taking the hint of his silence to just shut up and leave him alone!  
  
“Steven? Hello? Earth to Steven!” the younger boy on the other line finally got his attention.  
  
“What. Is. It?” Steven asked, more irritated than ever before.  
  
“Well I was just wondering when you were planning on coming this year. I…” his voice took a bashful turn, “I have a surprise and-“  
  
“Fucking hell! That’s it? That’s what you’ve been calling for?” Steven was livid. He was wasting precious time with Alex about something so… so… fucking stupid. “I’m not coming this year. I’ve had it with going to fucking Spain and babysitting ya every year. Fucks sake. I’ve got a girl to be minding, fuck off.” He slammed the phone down, not even giving Xabi time to respond, rushing back to Alex without a single thought towards his friend.  
  
(Back in Spain it goes a little like this: surprise, pain, anger. Heartbreak. Xabi goes across the street to Mikel’s house, barges into the other boy’s room like he’s on a mission, and painfully kisses him like he’s never kissed anyone before- so full of rage at Steven and embarrassment at himself and his obviously one-sided, boyish crush. When he pulls away- Mikel sees the rationality coming back to his eyes and quickly kisses him back. He doesn’t find out until after that Steven was the reason Xabi finally looked at him the way he had always looked at Xabi. If anything, it made the experience a little bit sweeter at first. Being able to have him in a way Steven now never would. But then he noticed the genuine sadness in his friend’s eyes- beneath the quickly fading anger. Mikel and Steven had never gotten along, but now Mikel would never forgive him for having put that hurt there.)  
  
Steven wouldn’t think about Xabi again until a few months later- after his parents got back from their usual summer in Spain (this time without him, much to his and Alex’s pleasure) with the news that Xabi was studying abroad in Ireland to work on his English.  
  
“We asked him why he wouldn’t come here, stay with us, since he’s always basically been like our little Spanish bastard anyways,” his mother told him over breakfast with a small laugh at her own joke.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, their phone conversation having long since slipped his mind as he had spent the last few months with the house to himself in carnal bliss.  
  
“Said he didn’t want to be a burden- make you feel like you had to babysit him. Isn’t that strange of him to say, Stevie?”  
  
Steven just swallowed a large knot in his throat that tasted a lot like guilt. He knew Xabi had always wanted to come to Liverpool and had been talking about a year abroad for what felt like forever. They’d made plans to go to Anfield together! He wanted to call him, write him in Ireland, anything really. Say sorry for having been such a twat to him. But then his mom pointed out the time and he was late for school- no more time to think about it. No time for Xabi at all.  
  
Liverpool, England  
Summer of 2000  
Twenty Years Old  
  
Things had been strained between them for years. But Steven still considered Xabi one of his closest friends. Of course he was the only friend he had that was so damn complicated. He couldn’t remember a conversation or a visit between the two in years that didn’t end with the both of them leaving in rage. When they had been kids, their dysfunctional relationship had been alright. All they needed was a quick scrape- a few punches here and there- and they could go on with their lives.  
  
But now. They were too old to be fighting each other. There was no outlet for their frustrations but to piss each other off and hurt each other more and more. It only seemed to get worse when Xabi came to London to attend university. The country wasn’t big enough for the two of them- although neither of them would ever admit it and tried to meet up every weekend or so.  
  
The last time they had talked, Steven had made a joke in good nature (or so he had hoped) about Xabi’s lack of a love life. Steven was always picking on him for never having been in any relationship he’d ever heard about. There was always some sick satisfaction he received in seeing the way his friend would tense up and look up at him with pleading eyes to shut up when he asked what he was waiting for.  
  
But this time they’d been drinking, Steven a bit further gone than he’d like to admit. Xabi’d been flirting with a man at the bar easily enough. Until Steven had to come and position himself between the two as if he hadn’t seen them talking- a mean glint in his eye. Head lolling slightly to the side- he took in his friend’s appearance and licked his lips. “So what the fuck are you waiting for, aye?” he’d asked, adding in a few jibes about his life of “divine loneliness”.  
  
Xabi’s spine had gone rigid instead of the quiet desperation this teasing usually brought out in him. (But then again Steven usually didn’t try to publicly humiliate him or stare at him like he wanted to either hit or eat him right then and there when he usually made these kinds of jokes.) He had looked back at Steven with cold eyes and said, “I’m not going to wait anymore.”  
  
When Steven woke up the next morning, hung over and alone in his flat, he could barely remember the night before but was painfully aware that every sign of Xabi was gone- even his number deleted from his cell phone.   
  
Madrid, Spain  
Summer of 2005  
Twenty Five Years Old  
  
Steven hates him. Fucking hates him from the moment he meets the bastard. Íker Casillas. What kind of fucking name was that? Fucking _Íker_. He knew that someone had finally made an honest man out of Xabi, made him settle down and that they even had an apartment together. But Steven never realized before he came to visit that the person to finally snag Xabi’s heart would be such a fucking _prick_.  
  
Steven had been nothing but the most gracious guest. He even complimented the damn bath towels for their excellent softness and absorbency after finding out Íker had picked them to try and get on the bastard’s good side. But nothing he did could get more than a slight nod of acknowledgment from the other man. All of his best jokes and charming anecdotes fell on deaf ears. How Xabi could have ended up with such a humorless pick was beyond him.  
  
And Xabi! He just skirted around, pretending that you couldn’t cut the tension in the apartment with a knife. Like it wasn’t obvious that his boyfriend couldn’t stand his oldest friend. Although that might be putting it lightly. Loathed would probably be a more befitting word to describe what was going on there. But it wasn’t like it was one sided.  
  
Steven had come to Spain with the intention of getting along with whoever it was Xabi was seeing, for no other reason than to support his friend and try to make up for the painfully awkward last few years of sparse phone calls between the two. And Íker was handsome in that dark, brooding way. He would give him that. But his attitude!  
  
He didn’t think that he had seen the other man smile once. And he always spoke in Spanish, without exception- giving Steven looks as he did so, as if he thought he was too stupid to understand. Even if everyone else was speaking English, he refused, like he was too good for the language or something. And that he always kept an arm around Xabi when Steven was around, like he was trying to fucking challenge him to ownership or something as equally ridiculous. It would be funny if it didn’t piss him off so much.  
  
On his last night in Spain Íker was working late so it was just the two of them. Xabi took Steven to a nice bar not too far from the flat for a few drinks and time to really catch up with one another. They never really talked about the last time they had seen each other. Five years ago when Xabi stormed out of his life like he was determined not to be there anymore. But he was there now and that was all that really mattered. Rehashing the past would just bring up old demons better forgotten. Plus there were new demons now and one in particular was named was Íker.  
  
“He hates me,” Steven said after his fourth beer- not really seeing the point in beating around the bush anymore.  
  
“I know,” Xabi answered, taking the last swig of his drink to match up Steven’s tally, not really seeing the point in denying it.  
  
“I just- I don’t- Xabi! How could you even be in love with a guy like that?” Steven asked, brow furrowed more than usual, like his friend’s relationship was some complicated math equation back at Uni that he could not, for the life of him, figure out.  
  
Xabi began peeling the wet label from around his empty bottle as he allowed for a moment of contemplation before answering. “He… He’s a good man. A great one. And he cares for me.”  
  
“But he’s a cunt!” Steven shouted in exasperation, throwing his arms up a bit. “He’s a miserable sod and he doesn’t deserve you.” Xabi’s spine stiffened.  
  
“So now you are an expert on who deserves me and who doesn’t,” he challenged, crossing his arms across his chest. His eyes were darker than usual, the drink speeding up his decent into rage.  
  
“Yes!” Steven shouted. “Obviously! Since you can’t seem to tell the difference between a nice looking fella to share your bed with and one to share your damn life with!”  
  
“No te comprendo, Steven. I don’t understand you. For years you mock me for not being with anyone. And now that I am happy and with another person that isn’t you, you mock me still!”  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Steven’s jaw clenched, his grip on the wooden counter before them tightened until his knuckles were impossibly white.  
  
“What?”  
  
“’Someone that isn’t you.’ What the fuck are you trying to say, huh?”  
  
“Nothing, Steven. I am not trying to say anything,” Xabi groaned.  
  
“What? You think I fancy you? You think I don’t like your prick of a boyfriend because I’m jealous, is that it?” Steven was too caught up in his anger to notice the way Xabi was slightly cowering away- not standing up strong and defiant like he normally did when they fought. “Don’t fucking flatter yourself. Like I would ever be interested in someone like _you_.”  
  
They didn’t speak to each other as a bouncer sternly told them to leave for disturbing the peace of the bar with their shouting. Didn’t speak as they walked back to the flat. The next time Steven heard Xabi’s voice was in the soft murmurs through the wall of his room after Íker came home from work and then in the sighs and groans again through the wall as Xabi proved to Steven and his aching chest exactly how jealous he really was.  
  
When Xabi dropped him off at the airport the next day, they still weren’t on the best terms. All of their conversations were short and terse. Even Íker seemed to become a bit nicer as he noticed the coldness that had grown between the two. But Steven couldn’t take it. It hurt to see the distant look in his friend’s eyes as he dropped him off at his terminal. He knew that if he left with things between them like this- there would be no looking back.  
  
“Did you need something?” Xabi asked without any real emotion as Steven just sat there in the passenger seat instead of getting out. Panic gripped Steven by the throat. He didn’t know what to do. He knew what he could say that would fix everything but every time he thought about actually saying the words- he couldn’t even open his mouth to even form them.  
  
“No, nothing,” he managed to rasp out getting out of the vehicle and grabbing his bags. But it wasn’t until Xabi began to slowly drive off that fear really gripped him. He bolted after the car, banging on the side until Xabi stopped and pulled over- allowing him to run to the window and face the other man through the open window.  
  
“You should leave him, Xabi. He doesn’t deserve you,” he panted, more from nerves than actual physical exertion. But the surprise on the other man’s face quickly turned to a familiar frown but Steven held up his hand to silence him before they could continue the same fight from before. “And it’s not because he’s a twat- although he is. But more because I fucking lied last night. I am fucking jealous. So jealous I wanted to break down your fucking door last night when- when- fuck! I fucking love you, okay? So can we just cut all this bullshit now and you break up with him and come home with me like it’s supposed to be for once?”  
  
The pause that followed his outburst was the longest of his life. Xabi remained impassive- not reacting to his confession in any manner that Steven would have imagined. The non-reaction was driving him insane. But just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to handle the silence, the other man’s eyes hardened and there was a hatred there that he was unprepared to confront.  
  
“Always wanting what you can’t have, Steven. And then what if I do that. What if I break things off with a man that I am happy with here and run away with you? What happens when you have me? What happens when you don’t want me anymore?” The words are like a punch in the gut. He can do nothing but stare on in horror- his confession of love having turned worse than he’d ever dreamed.  
  
And when he is unable to answer, Xabi gets all the confirmation he needs. When Steven watches him drive away- he has no way of knowing the strong exterior he’d put on only lasted a mile and a half before crumbling away and leaving him as raw as Steven felt sitting on the plane to England by himself. There are no winners when stakes are this high.  
  
Liverpool, England  
Summer of 2008  
Twenty Eight Years Old  
  
When Alex walks down the aisle, she’s absolutely stunning. Everyone in the church has their eyes glued to her and rightfully so. She’s perfection personified in a white gown. Every step she takes is one step closer to Steven and their happily ever after together. This is what Steven wants. What he has wanted ever since the two reconnected after a chance meeting at the grocery store two years before. He had to ask her several times before she would agree to marry him. And yet…  
  
Every step Alex and her beauty takes closer to Steven and the alter, the heavier the weight of the cell phone in his tuxedo pocket and a particular text message within it feels. The more noticeable an absence in the pew reserved for his favorite aunt and the Alonso family feels. (They’d apologized when he’d picked them up from the airport. Said Xabi couldn’t get the time off work but that he was very sorry to miss the wedding. The drive back to his parents’ house was awkward since everyone knew it was a lie but only Steven knew the reason behind the falling out and wasn’t one for sharing.)  
  
When Alex and his mum had given him the task of mailing out the wedding invitations, the only task they could really trust to him they’d said, he’d placed Xabi’s on top and placed the envelopes with only most a childish glee on his face in the post. They hadn’t spoken since the airport incident three years prior. Steven hoped the invitation would come so completely out of the blue and feel like everything Xabi put him through that day. He hoped it would put Xabi through the misery he hadn’t been able to escape until Alex had walked back into his life and slowly put him back together.  
  
He obsessively checked the RSVP list, looking for any kind of response. Even went so far as to casually inquire on the matter whenever his aunt called and conversation turned around to the wedding. (Although that never got him very far. His aunt was a smart woman and refused to play a part in their little game.) But he never got any validation. His excitement on the prospect of getting his revenge on Xabi quickly turned to irritability which Alex just blamed on nerves and pinched his cheeks until he was forced to let out a smile.  
  
But then on the morning of the wedding itself there it was. He was in the middle of getting dressed- his father helping him make sure his tie was straight enough- when his phone went off, signaling the arrival of a new message. He opted to ignore it, more pressing issues at hand until it went off again after a short period. Xabi’s name on the screen was unexpected at that point but he jabbed at the screen, trying to open the messages as fast as he could.  
  
“Congratulations,” the first read simply. And then a gut wrenching second, “Do you love her like you said you loved me?”  
  
He begins to type out a response in a hurried frenzy- his father shouting at him that it was time to go. “It’s not as destructive as with you.” He waits all through-out the wedding and then the ceremony for a response but one never comes. That night he turns off his phone and decides that this is it. He’s happy in this moment and that’s it. He and Alex honeymoon in France instead of Spain based off a last minute whim. He’s happy now.  
  
Basque Country, Spain  
Summer of 2013  
Thirty Three Years Old  
  
The call seems to come out of nowhere. He’s at the pub after work, barely touched his second beer when his phone goes off. He sees Alex’s name flash across the screen along with a picture of the two of them from their last holiday in Greece- both of them tan and beautiful and smiling brightly for the camera. He doesn’t want to answer. He’s had a shit day at work and would rather not have to talk to anyone- let alone the nagging wife asking where he is and why he never came home.  
  
But his shit day has been more of an exhausting one than an angry one and he instantly feels bad for even thinking of Alex as nagging because the woman was really a saint. Anyone who was able to put up with his moodiness and irritability of… the last few years really could not be anything other than a saint. So instead of ignoring the call and going back to drowning his sorrows in the bottom of his pint glass, he answers.  
  
“Steven,” she breathes out and then nothing.  
  
“What’s wrong, love?” he asks immediately, back stiffening. Alex wasn’t the kind of person for formalities. When she called someone, they knew why before she even said hello. The hesitancy in her voice scared him. “Alex, what-“  
  
“Steven, you need to come home. I can’t tell you this over the phone.”  
  
“What’s wrong? Yer worrying me. Just say it, it’ll be alright,” he coaxed but he could hear the indecision in her breathing. He gripped the bar counter in front of him, bracing himself for whatever was coming. (He expected something along the lines of, “I’m leaving you” or “I’m done” so the real answer takes him completely by surprise and makes him wish that maybe he was getting a divorce instead.)  
  
“It’s your aunt. She’s passed away. I’m so sorry, Steven. Your mum’s just called with the news.”  
  
Steven doesn’t get home that night until three am. He’s drunk and has obviously been taking the death quite hard. Alex doesn’t say anything- just wraps her usually estranged husband in her arms and whispers that it will all be okay. When he awakes the next morning he finds that she’s already booked him a plane for the funeral and gotten him the time off of work. He’s moved to tell her how much he loves her and how perfect she is until he sees the exhaustion in her eyes. The exhaustion caused by him. Instead of proclamations of his devotion that would most likely dissipate over time, he just nods at her and silently begins to pack.  
  
On the plane he tries to think of his failed marriage more than his dead aunt in an attempt to keep from breaking down and causing a scene. He takes a cab to a hotel near where his aunt used to live, unable to bring himself to go to her actual house if she wasn’t alive inside it. He hides out there until the funeral- not taking anyone but Alex’s calls. Not even his mother’s.  
  
The service takes place in a quaint Spanish church. It simple but beautiful. Every seat is filled by the beginning of the proceedings so late comers are forced to stand on the fringes, looking like sad shadows overlooking the people seated below. Everything is picturesque and perfect. His mother whispers in his ear at the end, “Xabi organized it all- he’s been working nonstop since it happened. Came straight from Madrid.” And Steven follows her gaze to the friend he has not seen in years, sitting in mourning on the other side of the church with the rest of his family. He doesn’t know if this news should upset him or make him happy so instead he doesn’t feel anything about it and focuses on the dead woman at hand.  
  
The coffin is a formality. Like her husband before her, his aunt has been cremated. Instead of going to the graveyard and watching a box lowered into the ground, those closest to the deceased gather around and watch as Steven’s father pours her ashes into the urn that held his long gone brother-in-law. They had been separated by death for so long but now no longer. “Xabi’s idea,” his mother whispers in his ear again- trying not to let a fresh batch of tears fall at the sentiment. Steven remains stoic.  
  
Steven escapes as soon as he has the chance. Doesn't tell anyone where he's going. Doesn't say goodbye. He escapes like he has something to hide. Which in some ways, he does. His bleeding heart for one. The heart he didn't think was capable to being hurt any more than it had been in the past. But life has a way of always proving you wrong. And of course Xabi is the one that finds him.  
  
“Your mother is worried,” is all he says, sitting down in the sand next to Steven, loosening his black die a bit as he does so.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Steven asks, hoping the tightness in his throat doesn't sound as much as a debilitating weakness as he thinks it does. Doesn't want Xabi to see him like this. Not Xabi. Not the man that had managed to break him the last time they had seen each other with his callousness. Like he hadn't even cared at all. He couldn't take it, Xabi seeing him in such a vulnerable position.  
  
“This is my beach, Steven.” Not _our_ beach, as it may have been in the past. Something that they had shared over the expanse of their childhoods together. No, it was something that solely belonged to Xabi now. Something Steven had lost the right to long before his aunt had ever passed away when he began to distance himself. But almost as a consolation Xabi added, “I knew I would find you here.”  
  
“I don't need your fucking comfort. You can leave your pitying bullshit behind,” Steven grits, balling his fists in the sand. God all he wants is for Xabi to be thousands of miles away again. All he wants is to never have to look at that haunting face. The one that wakes him up at night sometimes with its indifference to his pain. Alex thinks the drink gives him bad dreams, always tells him he has to stop going to the pub after work. Really it's his past that gives him nightmares. The drink, sometimes he thinks, is the only reason they don't invade his waking conscious as well.  
  
If Xabi seems offended, he doesn't show it. He has his caring and understanding face on. Which is bullshit because he doesn't care. If he did he wouldn't have driven away that day when Steven had confessed his love to him. Wouldn't have gone back to fucking Íker Casillas and their chic Madrid apartment without another word as Steven slowly died over the next few years. If he had cared now wouldn't have been the first time they'd seen each other since that godforsaken day. And he tells Xabi as much.  
  
“You are just mourning,” Xabi answers, remaining impassive, lounging a bit in the sand- closing his eyes and letting his head fall back as if he was resting. The rage wells up in Steven at his insolence. He balls his fists so hard the dry skin on his knuckles begins to crack and there's a searing pain all along his hands. But he's so angry he can't seem to care about anything but the man sitting next to him.  
  
The next thing either of them knows is that Steven's launched himself on top of his former friend- hitting him for all that he was worth. And Xabi is shocked of course. But not nearly as much as he should be. They fall into a eerily familiar routine- one they had practiced on that very beach a hundred times before as children.  
  
And this is where our story comes full circle. But not where it ends.  
  
Before Xabi can make it into the house Steven tackles him to the ground. This time he pins his arms down, sitting on his waist, effectively immobilizing the other man. Xabi doesn't even struggle much, just stares back up at Steven with resigned eyes as if to say, "I'm tired. Just let me go." But Steven doesn't. Can't. His grip on Xabi's wrist tightens momentarily in panic as he thinks, "If I let you go now, it'll really be over. For good." He just can't bring himself to let that happen.   
  
His face contorted with indecision. He knew that he couldn't hold Xabi there with sheer brute force forever. Eventually he would have to get off of him. Eventually he would have to watch him walk away and this time it would surely be for the last time. He opens his mouth multiple times to say something, anything, to make him see what he was doing to him. But he couldn't think of anything that would make any difference after everything they had done to each other. He couldn't think of a single reason for being together that would be worth the opportunity cost of leaving their current lives and partners behind.   
  
Xabi watched with a fascination as Steven's grip suddenly became weak and his face was so pinched and miserable it looked like he was going to start crying at any moment. And it was amazing because Steven didn't cry. Never. Not even with Xabi ran over his foot with his bike when he was ten and he had already sprained that ankle the day before. When Steven finally lets him go, Xabi can't bring himself to force the other man off of him, just reaches out and tenderly touches his face.   
  
"We'll make each other miserable," he whispered. Steven nodded, throat too constricted to say anything. "We were never meant to end up together. The world wouldn't be able to handle it," Xabi let out a small chuckle but it rang so false it could hardly be described as a laugh. His tender touches suddenly became a desperate grip on Steven's face as he forced their lips together.   
  
The kiss was fierce and desperate. It felt as though both men were trying to crawl inside one another, neither wanting to leave any space between them. Space was something they had experienced far too much of over the last few years. Anymore space and they were afraid they would never be able to find each other again. Xabi felt a wetness on his cheeks but he was unsure whose tears they actually were- his or Steven's.   
  
When they finally broke apart for air, Xabi forced Steven to stay close, hugging him tightly and forcing his head into the crook of his neck. "I... I'm game if you are," he whispered.   
  
Steven's response came in the way he wrapped his arms around the younger man, returning the crushing hug as his entire body shook through the sudden laughter mixed in to sobs- soaking Xabi's shoulder with a lifetime of emotion.   
  
For the first time they learned what it was like to not hurt each other anymore. The Game was finally over and it looked as though they had won.  
  
Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by one of my favorite movies- Love Me If You Dare. Also there's a bit of Combat Baby by Metric in there. Apologies because I did not edit this thing.


End file.
